Fragments of a Forgotten Truth
by Veilfire Runes
Summary: A series of inter-connected vignettes following the Royal Family of Mirkwood through their lives from the very beginnings of the Woodland Realm as we know it, through births and deaths, new friendships and loss, all the way up to the beginning of the Fourth Age.
1. Many Meetings

_Approximately 750 (S.A.) the Greenwood:_

Walking the forest paths of Eryn Galen was as familiar as it was painful for Thranduil, though he had never been to this forest before. Indeed, he had never been so far east before. Yet, with the beech trees towering overhead, the soft crackle of forest detritus beneath his boots, and the soothing lilt of Elven voices all around him, he could almost imagine he was back home in Doriath.

 _Fire - fire burning everywhere - the streets stained red - he cannot breathe for the smoke - Mother, where is she? - his Father is pulling him away from the chaos - swords clang, metal on metal - battlecries rent the air - Doriath! For Doriath! - The King has fallen! - red hair gleaming, a one-handed warrior -_

He gasped quietly, shaking his head to clear it of the nightmarish images. He was not in Doriath, he was in Eryn Galen, and he was safe, safe, _safe_. Gritting his teeth, he willed his hands to stop shaking; he could not afford to fall to pieces, his father was counting on him to be strong, to help lead the shattered remnant of their people.

"Are these wood-elves ever going to appear?" An Elf to Thranduil's right sniped, as their exhausted group reached a tall hill that had carved a bald niche out of the otherwise lush forest. Privately, Thranduil couldn't help but agree; the Sindar elves had arrived in Eryn Galen some days before, yet not even a hair of the forest's residents had been spotted by their scouts. Were they so removed from the world that they would not even greet their travel-weary kin?

"Hush, Lamaen," Oropher snapped from the front. "The _Laegrim_ will appear when they are ready, not before. Remember, we are on their land, seeking sanctuary, not the other way around. If they are cautious of us, then they must have good reason."

Shame flickered across Lamaen's face, as well as a grimace at the harsh reminder of what they themselves were fleeing. Though they had heard no news of Elf slaying Elf this far east, the brutal kinslaying at Doriath was all too fresh in their minds.

"We shall camp here tonight," Oropher announced to the group as a whole; a weary bedraggled entourage Elves, all that would flee with them from Doriath, those who had lived through their long journey eastward. Thranduil couldn't help but avoid the eyes of his fellows as they turned to Oropher and himself seeking guidance. There was too much despair casting shadows in once-bright eyes, too much pain still fresh there, settled in the dents in their once-bright armour, woven into strands of clothes hastily patched on the journey east, and carved into the gauntness of their cheeks from too long spent on rations.

There were relieved sighs all round from the ground as they spread out in a now-familiar routine. Packs thudded to the ground and bedrolls unravelled, meagre portions of food were doled out, and slowly the Sindar began to relax.

Oropher and Thranduil set up their own bedrolls slightly apart from the group, as has become their habit through months of long journeying. Ever since the people had chosen Oropher to guide them east to safety, they had been treating him differently, with a deference they had not shown him beforehand - distant kin of the Lord Thingol he might be, in Doriath he had been a minor lord at best. Consequently, this meant as his son, Thranduil was stuck between the two; once he would have felt free to walk among them, soothe their worries and ease their anxieties, now he felt held apart, no longer truly one of them. He wanted to help his people without abandoning his father and to help his father without neglecting their people!

"Do you think they will come, _adar_?" Thranduil kept his voice low, though none were close enough but Oropher to hear. Oropher glanced over at him, a sharp warning in his steel grey eyes.

"I have faith they will," he answered just as softly. "They will not abandon us here."

Thranduil nodded and sighed. His father was being...overly optimistic in his opinion. That had always been his father's gift, a strong sense of faith and optimism. Somehow, it had always seemed to work out for him. If he was wrong this time though, if the _Laegrim_ did not appear, then they would either have to remain in Eryn Galen and establish themselves without the permission of their kin, or else move on and look for sanctuary elsewhere. Both options could lead to disaster for what remained of the Sindar elves.

"I shall fetch us firewood then, _adar_."

Oropher nodded dismissively, already lost in thought, surveying the rest of their group. He did that a lot lately, and it grated on Thranduil's nerves. He should not feel like this, he chastised himself as he walked away. His father was under a lot of stress, and had lost much in such a short period of time, it was only natural that he had pulled away. And yet...Thranduil missed the days when he and his father had been close, and had shared their thoughts freely with one another.

He stepped lightly once more into the shade of the trees, revelling in the familiar scent and sounds of the forest. This was a good place, untainted by darkness. A place where the Sindar could live away from the world-shaking machinations of the Noldor and the terrible deeds their arrival had brought down on Arda. A home where they could live simply, like the Elves of old.

He took a few minutes to unwind, breathing in the clean woodland air and admiring the soft glow of the sunset through the verdant leaves as he gathered fallen sticks for firewood. Although it was still summer here, the season was winding to a close, and already some of the leaves were beginning to change colour. Thranduil had always enjoyed autumn; the vibrant reds and oranges and yellows that blazed trails through the forest canopies, eating fresh blackberries and nuts, celebrating the autumn festivals...

Thranduil let out a soft growl, dashing at the treacherous tears that threatened to spill down his face. There would be no autumn festivals this year, he would never be able to tease his cousins about their growing elflings...never again. Doriath was a hollow ruin, his cousins were dead. Their elflings were dead. All dead.

A choking burning pain festered in his chest, swelling in response to the memories that haunted his thoughts. He hated how soft and familiar it was, hated how much it reminded him of home, hated how much it reminded him of everything they'd once had and lost.

Those sons of Fëanor. Those _Noldor_.

Throwing aside his bundle of sticks, Thranduil began to run. He moved blindly through the trees, faster and faster, as if he could outpace his whirling angry thoughts, unaware of anything except the primal need to run, to move, to do something other than be trapped in his thoughts. How had it come to this? How had his proud people been brought so low, reduced to begging for scraps, left looking to him and his father for salvation? He would not, could not, let them down now!

One moment, he was weaving through the trees, swift and sure-footed as a young stag, the next he was flying, falling, tumbling through the air to crash hard against the mossy floor. Stunned, he lay there for a moment, grass and moss tangled up in his hair and smeared across his face, and then he began to laugh. A harsh, bitter, broken laugh that welled up from the pain in his chest, an ugly noise that did not belong in a beautiful land. The proud Thranduil, brought low by a tree root!

Thank the _Rodyn_ no one had been around to see that.

With a despondent sigh, he heaved himself upright, armour clinking and muscles protesting, and then froze, ensnared as a bright merry laugh pierced the air. He was not alone.

A few feet away, peeking around the bole of a tree, a young elf-woman stood, one hand raised to her mouth as if to stifle her mirth. A blush crept onto his face and he fought the waves of embarrassment flooding through him, as moonstruck as the mortal Beren stumbling across the beautiful Luthien Tinuviel. But this elleth was no nightingale, no dark beauty of the twilight woods. She was clad in simple green and brown leathers, with a quiver of arrows slung low at her hip, and a bow in her other hand. Her hair was brown, like chestnuts and her eyes gleamed in the fading light.

Thranduil hastily brushed the leaves from his hair, praying fervently that there were no grass stains on his face. The elleth took a half step forward, but then, almost as if shy, she stopped, watching him carefully. Her gaze turned wary as it raked across his armour, lingering briefly on his sword at his belt.

Slowly, Thranduil put up his hands, fingers splayed wide. "Hello. I mean you no harm," he called softly to her.

Her bright eyes snapped up to meet his, but with no recognition. Thranduil would have slapped himself, if he could. Of course she did not speak Sindarin, any more than the _Laegrim_ had when Denethor had led them west. Perhaps Quenya? What had the _Laegrim_ spoken? He wasn't sure, he hadn't had much to do with them.

Thinking quickly, he placed a hand on his chest, and pushed back his tangled hair to display his pointed ears. "Thranduil." He tapped his chest again. "My name is Thranduil."

Understanding blossomed across her face, and she placed her hand over her heart in return. "Sídhiel."

"Sídhiel?" He repeated, smiling. "Your name is Sídhiel?"

She nodded, and burst into a rapid chatter that was entirely lost to him. At his thoroughly blank look, she burst into another peal of delighted laughter, slinging her bow across her back. She fired another rapid sentence at him, her head tilted slightly in puzzlement. A question? He had no idea what she had asked, never mind how to answer.

She frowned, obviously as frustrated as he was, and began to pace, back and forth, grumbling to herself in her own tongue. She was certainly charming, even if he couldn't understand her.

They both seemed equally shocked when another voice answered her in the same language, and another young elleth dropped from a nearby tree. Did the _Laegrim_ live in the trees? How many were watching them even now? He fought the urge to scan the boughs for more watchers, but his instincts screamed at him not to take his eyes off the newcomer. Her appearance was similar to that of Sídhiel's, but her body language was far less welcoming, and she did not approach him. This one, though she bore no weapon, was more dangerous than she seemed.

"Óleth," Sídhiel said, gesturing to the newcomer. "Óleth, Thranduil." She gestured back at him, clearly attempting to break the sudden tension that hung in the air, thick as winter fog over the moors.

Óleth said nothing in return , refusing even to look at him. Instead, she drew Sídhiel away, speaking fast and low, occasionally jabbing a finger in his direction, at the trees, and every so often, jabbing at Sídhiel.

The two were clearly well acquainted, Thranduil noted, watching carefully for any sign this Óleth might turn on him. There was a definite similarity to their faces and builds; sisters perhaps? Or close cousins? Whatever their relation, it was obviously that Óleth was the elder from the way she was badgering Sídhiel. And certainly, they were no backwater country fools, as the rumours had claimed. There was a fierce intelligence to them, and Sídhiel's bow was no crude carving. They were wild, perhaps, but not uncivilised or without merits of their own.

After a few minutes of one-sided debate, Sídhiel simply shrugged and clapped Óleth's shoulder, finally speaking in return. She did not seem annoyed in the slightest, indeed, she looked almost amused. Whatever it was she said to Óleth was enough to end the argument, even if it wasn't enough to make Óleth stop glowering at him.

Sídhiel turned back to him, her smile just as bright as before, and said something to him, slow and careful, pointing at the darkening sky, then at him, and then back at the way he'd come. The message was clear: It was getting dark, he should return to his people.

He nodded to show his understanding. How could he ask her to meet him again, that he wanted to see her again?

She smiled mischievously at him, again speaking slowly as she pointed at herself, then at him, and then placed a hand above her eyes, shading them, as if scouting for something.

"You will look for me?" He asked, repeating her actions to clarify. He certainly hoped so. She repeated herself once more, nodding. Behind her, Óleth rolled her eyes and snapped something in irritation.

Sídhiel gave an exasperated huff and then waved at Thranduil in a deliberately cheerful manner before disappearing up into the tree branches with Óleth. Thranduil watched her spring away, fluid and graceful, and could hardly believe his luck.

Perhaps this forest had something worth staying for in it after all.

He made his way slowly back to camp, forgetting all about the firewood, his mind tangled up in replaying each moment of his interactions with the wood-elves, smiling all the way.

An hour later, as he finally found his way back to camp, he found it very much changed from the somber mood he had left it in. His father, it seemed, had hardly noticed his absence, and certainly did not care that he had not returned with any firewood. Instead, he too was smiling, as were many of the other Sindar as they shared around baskets of food, laughing with delight. Mixed in with his own people were many strange Elves, clad in greens and brown, chattering in an unfamiliar tongue.

"Thranduil!" Oropher called to him, looking less stressed than Thranduil had seen him in months - the shadows had lifted from his eyes at last. "I told you the _Laegrim_ would not abandon us."

"But...how?" Thranduil blinked, wide eyed, looking around at the unexpected arrivals and their many gifts. "How did they know?"

Lamaen stepped out of the crowd, overhearing, a sardonic smirk on his face. "Apparently, we have you to thank for that." Thranduil frowned at him.

"Me? I did nothing."

"The Silvans, that is what they call themselves, said one of their own found you wandering the forest looking half-starved," Lamaen teased. "They sent people with food, feeling sorry for us."

"And how would you know that?" Had the other ellon been spying on him?

Lamaen gave an easy shrug. "I used to live among the _Laegrim_ near Doriath. I speak their language with passable fluency. These Silvans...their language is quite similar, though the years have changed it some. Lord Oropher has asked myself and a few others to act as translators. These _Laegrim_ , it seems, do not have a single city or permanent settlement of any kind. They live in camps, clans, that they call _lumornoss_. It is little wonder we could not find them until now, they are masters of woodcraft." He looked suitably smug, a preening peacock fanning himself with his plumage. Thranduil stepped forward, opening his mouth to snap a reply.

"We have been fortunate," Oropher interjected smoothly, sensing his son's rising defensive temper. "Things would have been far more difficult if we had to stumble along without a way to speak to each other. And indeed, if you had not gone off and found them, my son, it seems they would not have known we were here at all."

Oropher's proud smile and affectionate shoulder clasp sparked a warm feeling deep in Thranduil's chest, dismissing his irritation at Lamaen's bragging. He had helped after all, even if it had been inadvertent. And more importantly, his people were being cared for, fed by the generousity of the Silvan elves. Perhaps now, they would have some good fortune.

And perhaps, he would be able to get to know Sídhiel a little better, too.


	2. A Promise of Despair

_Approx 751 (S.A.) the Greenwood:_

She is a leaf, one of millions, shivering in the wind. It gusts harder and so suddenly, she is ripped free of her tenuous hold of the branch. Drifting, tumbling, swirling on the breeze, she takes a breath-

Now she is a tree, one of thousands, solid and forbidding and ancient. The wind cannot move her, though her branches and leaves dance to the song it conducts. She hums in approval and takes a breath-

She is a squirrel, scrambling and running and scratching her way down the trunk of a tree. She makes her way down to the forest floor, pausing, then running, then pausing again. She takes a breath-

A deer, grazing comfortably in the safety of the herd. A breath.

A hunting cat, stalking in the shadowed undergrowth. Breathe.

An owl, nesting in the heart of an oak, waiting for night. Breathe.

Awarenesses flickered by, faster and faster, blurring together too quick to keep up with. The entire forest pressed against her mind, all clamouring for her attention, a whirlwind of information that she could not process. In the rush of noise, lights flashed by - consciousnesses that instinct warned her she could not, dared not, touch. Those were Elves, and their minds were closed to her accidental intrusion. But even still, they burned impressions on her senses - laughter and singing and sweet wine; friendship and love and joy; relaxation and peacefulness and-

 _Fire_.

Óleth awoke, heart pounding and breathing harsh in her chest, almost falling from the branch where she had been resting. That certainly would have been embarrassing; she had not fallen from a tree since she was an elfling, barely allowed to wander unsupervised from camp.

She let her eyes drift closed as she tried to understand what she had just witnessed before her memory of it faded. Her awareness of the goings-on in the Greenwood was not unique by any means, all the Silvan elves could commune with each other mind to mind and with many of the other denizens of the woods if they chose - ability to do so even in her sleep was more unusual, she had only met a scarce handful of other Elves who could do so. It was often a relaxing way to way to pass her resting hours, as there was little in the Greenwood that would threaten an Elf. There was peace here.

Well, _mostly_.

Since the intrusion of the Sindar elves out of the west a year past (but not the Far West, they'd continuously stressed.), a tension had crept over the forest like a winter frost. Nothing had been settled between Sindar and Silvan. Some of the Sindar had sensibly dispersed into different _lumornyss_ , but the majority had remained where they had first settled: a hill in the southern region of the forest, that they had begun to call Amon Lanc in their harsh tongue.

Their Sindar cousins were certainly strange, Óleth mused, though she could scarce call them cousins, they were so _different_. She could not understand their desire to settle, to plant roots like a tree and build permanent structures. Nothing in the Greenwood was permanent; the _lumornyss_ moved from camp to camp across the whole forest from month to month. Some _lumornyss_ would even switch camps twice during the longer months, _Laer_ and _Rhîw_. And these camps were chosen weeks in advance, to ensure they would not clash with another _lumornoss_ and to ensure that the area had sufficiently recovered from the last time someone had stayed there. Some campsites ended up unused for years if the area looked too drained.

"You've never been tree-running before?" A familiar incredulous voice broke into Óleth's thoughts, disturbing her concentration. Óleth opened her eyes, glowering down at Sídhiel from the tree branch. Her sister had just wandered into view, accompanied by the Sindar _ellon_ she was so enamoured of, Thranduil; Sídhiel looking like she was about to burst into laughter, and Thranduil suitably embarrassed at his ignorance.

"It is not a skill I particularly needed to learn in - before," he said, with an uncomfortable set to his shoulders. Óleth snorted.

 _Did they not have trees in Doriath?_ Óleth wondered. Certainly, if they wore such heavy cumbersome armour all the time as Thranduil seemed to do, they would break all but the sturdiest branches. Sídhiel's thoughts, it seemed, were running along a similar branch.

"I must confess I find it odd." Óleth found it odd that her normally verbose sister was taking such pains to speak slowly and carefully but she did not dare interrupt Sídhiel now. Her sister was fierce when riled and did not care for Óleth's disdain of the Sindar elves. She didn't understand how Sídhiel could welcome them so easily. "Here, in the Greenwood, an elfling could do this. Much of our lives are spent walking along the paths the trees made, from branch to branch. It is faster, much faster, than walking upon the ground. It is little wonder that you tripped when we first met."

Thranduil flushed, his ears twitching in discomfort. "In my defence, I was not precisely paying attention to where I was going."

"Well then, I am certain it should not be terribly hard to teach you," Sídhiel teased. "Provided I have your utmost attention this time."

Óleth rolled her eyes and then leaned over a little to look down at them properly, fully intending to announce her presence before she was accused of snooping. But as she did so, the branch creaked, and Thranduil's gaze snapped up to meet hers, his hand flashing to the ever-present sword at his hip - Óleth's awareness shrank to those pale blue eyes staring back at her as her world was engulfed in fire.

The heat of the flames licked at her skin and her mouth filled with bitter ash. The trees around her were caught up in the inferno, summer green leaves crisping and burning away, the branches screaming in protest. Animals stampeded past, fur aflame and feathers singed as they sought shelter from their Elven co-inhabitants; but the Elves too were fleeing the blaze, voices raised in alarm and despair as their homes burned. Above the anguished wails of the burning wood came a roar like thunder and the snap of immense wings. In the middle of all the carnage stood Thranduil, oblivious to the flames that burned him too, his eyes still fixed on her.

And then as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, though the flames left light-shadows dancing in her eyes as if she'd been staring at the sun. Sídhiel was frowning at her and Thranduil's expression had changed to one of confusion as his hand drifted away from his sword. She felt her face heat with embarrassment and scrambled awkwardly to her feet. Before either of the other two could speak or try to stop her, she turned and fled.

Óleth bounded through the trees, leaping from branch to branch as smoothly and effortlessly as only one born in the forest could. Even with her mind in turmoil, her thoughts scattered and unfocused, she had no trouble navigating the pathway of branches the Greenwood provided for her. Unaware of the trees shifting beneath her to keep her aloft, she could not drive away the mental image Thranduil had inadvertently brought about.

She knew there was a reason why she didn't like him, but she never could have guessed that he could have been the focus point of such chaos and destruction. Ever since she'd first met him, he'd set her on edge. She'd tried to warn Sídhiel to stay away from him, that her every instinct recoiled from him even if she did not consciously know why. She'd tried to warn the others too, that the Sindar should be sent away, but none had listened. Even Sídhiel had laughed her off, as she never had before, dismissing her bad feelings as nothing more than reasonable suspicion of strangers. As time had passed and no danger had appeared and no betrayal had come at the hands of Thranduil nor any of his kin, and it had become harder and harder for Óleth to convince anyone that they did indeed pose a danger to the Greenwood.

This was not the first time Óleth had seen such things, admittedly never anything so violent, but she had had other visions before. Thranduil's father, Oropher, seemed to wear a mantle of shadow, woven of sadness and grief. She had seen auras of happiness around pregnant _elleth_ , caught glimpses of injuries before they'd occurred, even managed to warn a friend of Sídhiel's not to go to the river alone one day, and thus that _ellon_ had avoided drowning to death.

But the vision Thranduil had prompted was stark and she could not shake it from her mind; even the fringes of it had intruded upon her sleep as he'd approached. Óleth shook her head as she ran, wishing for someone that shared her abilities that she could speak with. But the few other elves that she knew of were far away, she did not know where their _lumornyss_ were staying at present.

 _What did it all mean?_

On instinct, as the branches thinned and fell away beneath her, Óleth allowed herself to drop to the ground, marshalling her thoughts back to the present to see where the trees had lead her. As she looked around, she groaned. Why here? she thought furiously at the trees, which gave no reply, leaves waving peacefully in the gentle breeze.

Traitors that they were, they had guided her steps deep into the heart of the forest, much further north than she ever liked to go. The trees here had purposefully left a clearing around a massive beech tree, an ancient progenitor of the forest, and one that would brook no neighbour. No animals lurked or denned in this clearing, no birds roosted in sprawling branches that scraped the sky. It was forbidding and ominous, and all avoided this clearing if they could.

At least, if they had any sense they did.

" _So you have returned at last, little dreamer,_ " a voice thrummed at the edges of her mind, strong despite the age of the tree. Óleth stepped further into the clearing, reluctance dragging at her feet. She had avoided this place with fervour since she'd stumbled across it as an elfling and the tree had scared her witless. She'd sworn she would never willingly return to this tree again - it _knew_ too much, to the extent that some among the Silvan whispered that it had once been an elf like them, ages of the world ago, and had merged with a beech tree to hide from the Dark Lord, Morgoth. But somehow, they had become trapped, and then twisted, and refused to use its knowledge for the benefit of any but itself.

Whether this was true or not, the tree certainly did not behave benevolently to most. It loved to taunt those who came to speak with it, bait them with glimpses of dark futures, or trip them with its roots. Once she'd heard of a belligerent _elleth_ who had had a branch dropped on her by the tree for asking questions the tree had deemed offensive. But there were some that it treated with less hostility - Sídhiel, she knew, came here often and had never been assaulted, nor had even heard the voice of the tree. And Óleth, herself, had heard it speak with something resembling fondness at one point.

" _You have been gone for many turnings of the seasons, little dreamer,_ " it continued, the voice growing stronger as she drew closer. " _Though I have sensed you near my clearing many times. Do I scare you so?_ "

" _Not at all,_ " Óleth responded with her thoughts, settling down into a meditative pose out-with the reach of root or branch. " _I simply had no questions that you could answer for me._ " It was best to show the tree no fear, she'd learned, for the tree yearned for the satisfaction of scaring others.

A wave of amusement emanated from the tree, washing over Óleth's mind. " _Very well. And what has brought you here now, when you have left me in solitude for so long? I can feel the lingering essence of terror in the corners of your mind, even though you try to hide it from me. What has scared you so sweetly?_ "

Slowly, hesitantly, Óleth opened her mind further to the tree, recalling the images that Thranduil had prompted to the forefront of her thoughts. " _I do not know what this means, or why it happened as it did. He has never provoked such a vision before now, I have seen him many times without more than an unsettling feeling._ "

" _Your sleeping mind knows more than you do,_ " the tree answered with a thoughtful hum. Its branches creaked in an approximation of a laugh. " _Indeed, you still have not noticed all. I know of this Thranduil and have brushed his mind, when he wanders the forest. I have Seen him also. His mind wanders away from his control on occasion, meandering deep into past traumas._ "

" _What does this have to do with my vision?_ " Óleth protested. Vaguely, she remembered Sídhiel mentioning the horrors the Sindar elves had endured, betrayals and wars and the like, but she had not thought much on it.

The tree's leaves snapped in irritation, liking the cracking of a whip. " _I am telling you, dreamer, so interrupt me not. I must explain so that you might understand what I have known for seasons, since before this Thranduil had ever set foot in my forest. If you care not for my answers, you may leave._ "

The tree ceased speaking, an abrupt pause in which Óleth might leave if she chose - but it was heavy with the implication that if she _did_ choose to leave, she would likely not be welcome to return ever again. Instead of rising to her feet, she ducked in her head in contrition. " _I apologise, wise tree. Please forgive my rudeness and continue._ "

An amused huff echoed in her thoughts. " _You have learned to speak politely since last we spoke. This is good. Who taught you manners at last? Algarion perhaps, he has always considered you to be his favourite student. But to return-_ " the tree seemed to pause, as if it was trying to recall what they had been speaking of before her interruption. Óleth resisted the urge to prompt it. " _As I was saying,_ " it finally continued. " _Your vision of the fires that consume much of Thranduil's future met with Thranduil's memories of fires in his past. I imagine he was as surprised as you, or would have been if he had Seen the same things as you. Perhaps he did, perhaps he did not - who knows if he also has the Gift? Maybe you should teach him._ "

Óleth bit her tongue, restraining the urge to snap at the tree for teasing her. It would do her no good. Instead, she wondered on what else it had said, about Thranduil's future being consumed by fire. Fire was dangerous, as all knew, but it was especially dangerous to a forest and those that dwelt within. " _Might I ask another question, wise tree?_ "

Branches flexed in an almost shrug. " _Perhaps. You can ask, dreaming one, but I may not answer. I See the possible question that you might ask, and that bores me. So think carefully on your question._ "

" _Is Thranduil a danger to this forest?_ "

The tree sighed. " _You didn't even hesitate,_ " it scolded. " _But I will answer you anyway, for I See you will not accept anything other than an answer. Thranduil is both danger and salvation of what you call the Greenwood. Fire is his past and his future and it will consume all within its path. As the fire blazes through the forest, you will lose many things dear to your heart, little dreamer, and he will bring you much joy and also immense pain. Do not despair, for he too will rejoice and suffer more than you. And when the last of the fires dies away and the darkness clears, a a green leaf will unfurl beneath the moon and you will know peace."_

Óleth gave a shiver, pulling her mind away from the tree in horror. She was more alarmed now than she had been when she'd first arrived; certainly she was not reassured at all. In fact, she was more determined now than ever than Sídhiel should have nothing to do with Thranduil at all. Even if the tree had promised a far flung future of peace, Óleth did not trust it one bit.

But even if she could not stop Sídhiel from seeing Thranduil, she could at least prepare now. And hopefully, she would be able to save at least _some_ of the Greenwood from the Sindar.


	3. A Day For Patience

_Approx 751 (S.A.) the Greenwood:_

Sídhiel had always been the patient sort, willing to wait out the tempers of others and bend with the winds. She knew that if she was patient, she was persistent, eventually everything would turn out the way it was supposed to - and more often than not, in her favour. Her sister, however...

Just as their father had been, Óleth was strong-willed, fierce tempered and not shy in the slightest about making her opinion known. Not that Sídhiel was not equally confident in making her opinions known, she was just... _gentler_ about it. There was no sense in alienating those they had to live with. But Óleth did not see things that way, or if she did she simply did not care. Of course, that usually left Sídhiel attempting to soothe hurt feelings and rankled pride of those unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of Óleth's sharp tongue. She had plenty of practice at it by the time they were adults, and more besides when they'd decided to remain in the same _lumornoss_ together, instead of joining separate ones.

Although, normally, she was not the one being berated. That was taking a lot more getting used to.

Sídhiel bit back the urge to sigh, knowing it would only bring up questions she did not wish to answer. The rest of their _lumornoss_ was in good spirits, chatting and relaxing, or making plans for the summer meets. But not her sister; Óleth had been in a foul mood for the last week, as she had been ever since that day she and Thranduil had accidentally crossed paths when Sídhiel had taken him around the forest. And that meant that Sídhiel was not allowed to be in a good mood either, or risk further admonishment for not taking Óleth's opinions seriously enough.

In this instance, however, Sídhiel could not bring herself to heed Óleth's advice. No matter what Óleth claimed to have seen or felt, Sídhiel did not accept that the Sindar Elves were dangerous. They were refugees fleeing their war-torn homeland, betrayed by Elves and allies alike. That did not make them a threat to the Elves of Greenwood - and certainly, Sídhiel did not feel any kind of threat from the young Prince Thranduil. He had only ever been polite and charming towards her, troubled by concerns for his people and their future. Óleth, she maintained, was simply being paranoid.

Green eyes flashed in her direction, dark with temper, almost as if she had caught the edges of Sídhiel's thoughts, so she smiled back, deliberately cheerful. She set her shoulders and marched over to where Óleth was ferociously attempting to repair one of her tunics and only succeeding in creating larger holes than before. Honestly, it was almost as if she'd never paid any attention to any of their lessons as elflings.

"Come, sister. Lets go for a walk, you and I." Sídhiel grinned, projecting as much challenge into that smile as she could. "I bet I can still outrace you to the river."

Repairs forgotten in the face of a contest, Óleth was on her feet in a flash. "You've only won _once_ , little sister. By cheating."

Sídhiel flicked her ears in mock outrage. "Me? _Cheat?_ You wound me!" And with that, she gave Óleth a small playful shove, and bolted in the opposite direction, bare feet digging into the soft dark earth. Behind her, she heard Óleth give a cry of indignation and come charging after her. Sídhiel laughed in delight, ignoring the other Elves of their _lumornoss_ who shook their heads at the antics of the two young Elves. They might be adults now, but since neither had reached their first millennia, such frivolity was usually tolerated, if discouraged from being _too_ rowdy.

Trees flashed past in a blur as Sídhiel pushed her body as hard as she could. Running on the ground was not something she was practiced at, for the routes through the branches above were far more fun. On the forest floor, there were considerably more obstacles to deal with; tree roots and fallen branches, other Elves, the loose soil underfoot and smaller plants, as well as the usual mess left behind by the other occupants of the forest. But she had to keep running, for if she stopped, then Óleth would be able to catch her too quickly.

She veered abruptly to the left, sliding effortlessly down the steep embankment. Almost at the river now, the grass beneath her feet was beginning to give way to small stones and shale. And then something heavy collided with her and she was falling, rolling, dazed. The heavier weight atop her clung on until they crashed to a stop, and pressed her into wet pebbles with a triumphant snort.

"I win," Óleth said smugly. Sídhiel stewed for a moment, allowing her sister a small moment of preening before she bucked hard, kicking out and sending the elder _elleth_ tumbling into the water. Sídhiel rolled herself to her feet just in time to see Óleth break the surface of the river, spluttering and drenched.

"You little-!" Óleth shrieked, charging out of the water at her. Sídhiel let out a small yelp, sending pebbles scattering as she scrambled to get out of the way of her outraged sibling. She was much too slow, and the next thing she knew she was being dragged back and into the river.

 _Freezing! Coldcoldcold!_ Sídhiel flailed wildly in the water, cursing, as she propelled herself out back onto the shore. Laughing, for the first time in days, Óleth let her scramble for a moment before reaching out a hand to help her onto the drier grass.

"That was uncalled-for," Sídhiel accused, smoothing sopping wet hair back from her face, but there was no malice in her voice. _Rodyn_ , her braids must be a mess by now.

"You did it first," Óleth reminded her, a little breathlessly. She shivered out of her overtunic and fastidiously spread it on the grass in the warm sunshine.

"You're older, you should know better," Sídhiel retorted, shedding her overtunic as well. It did not do much to warm her, but the sudden lack of the heavy sodden weight was a relief.

Óleth snorted. "Not that much older."

"It's twenty-five years, Óleth!" The flat look Óleth shot her in return made plain exactly what her sister thought of a "mere" twenty-five year age gap. Sídhiel rolled her eyes as Óleth lay back on the grass, her eyes shut against the brightness of the sun. Sídhiel remained sitting, unravelling her braids to let them dry properly and watched her sister with a critical eye.

Though she was the younger sibling, she'd often felt like she was elder, the more responsible one. She was the hunter, the fighter, the protector - Óleth had always preferred more passive roles, quickly taking a liking to becoming the favoured storyteller of their _lumornoss_ , learning the Silvan people's histories and finding new ways to tell their legends. Indeed, Óleth disdained violence, going so far as to stubbornly refuse to learn to use any weapon. Play-fighting between the two of them was one thing, but anything that might lead to serious injury was abhorrent to her. Sídhiel found that she could not agree with her pacifism to the same degree: learning to defend oneself and loved ones was necessary - they lived in a dark and troubled world. And besides, not all of them could live on roots and leaves and berries as Óleth chose to, a _lumornoss_ needed hunters as well.

"Have you ever considered leaving?" Óleth asked suddenly, her eyes now open and staring at Sídhiel. She recognised that strange fey look that swirled in those deep green eyes, the edges of precognition crowding in her thoughts and prompting the oddest of conversations. It was beyond her control, and often, she was not aware of why she even thought to ask such questions.

"Leaving?" Sídhiel echoed. "As in, leaving the Greenwood?" She paused at Óleth's nod, seriously considering the question. "I think not. What else could hold my interest in the far-off world?" The Greenwood was her world - everything she cared for was here and would always be here. Family and friends, the trees and the stars. She had no heed to leave. "Why would you ask?"

Óleth's brow knitted into a frown. "I am...not certain. It was just a feeling." She turned her gaze skyward once more, folding her hands behind her head. "But as you said, there is no reason for you to leave." There was a troubled look in her eyes that made Sídhiel's heart clench in worry.

"Don't fret over it, Ól," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "How could I go anywhere when it would mean leaving you? Who would look after you if I wasn't around?"

"I am _not_ a child. I do not need _looking after._ "

"Oh really?" Sídhiel arched a brow. "Who reminds you to eat, hmm? And to talk to other people, and to not spend every day dreaming-"

"All right, all right," Óleth interrupted, laughing. "You win, I would be helpless without you. You are as bad as _Naneth_ , honestly."

"Somebody has to be. _You_ spend all your time emulating _Adar_."

"I do not!"

"Yes you do, all the way down to that indignant scowl. It will be the legacy of our line, passing from your children to your grandchildren and beyond - so many tiny angry babies." Sídhiel pulled a deliberately exaggerated frown, prompting a playful swat from Óleth.

"Enough of your nonsense, little sister. You and I both know I shan't be having children."

"As you say," Sídhiel shrugged. "At least it is a good time for it; the world is not as dark as it once was. _Adar_ and _Naneth's_ _lumornoss_ has three elflings already, and I have heard word of some among the Sindar too. I am pleased for them."

"You'll get your turn one day."

Sídhiel sighed, trying not to sound too wistful, looking out over the water. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. That is in the hands of the _Rodyn_."

"I-" Sídhiel frowned, turning back to Óleth, startled by her unusual hesitancy. Óleth sat up, indecision warring on her fair features.

"You will have children one day, I think." Green eyes studied her- no, they looked _beyond_ her, towards something that Óleth alone could see now. "Three, and they burn like fire to my sight, so bright it is hard to tell. It is his fault, he brings the fire and the pain-" here she cut herself off, screwing her eyes closed and withdrawing into herself protectively. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I can't-I won't look anymore, I can't. Sídhiel, don't leave me."

Pushing aside her own alarm and shock, Sídhiel drew Óleth into her arms, shushing her. "It's okay. I'm here. Whatever you saw may never come to pass. Remember that. Always remember that." She had never seen Óleth like this, so shaken by what she had seen. It was far more common for the odd feeling to come over her, or for to say something that uncannily turned out to be true. This felt too much like a True Seeing, and that was something so far beyond Sídhiel's ken. She wanted to run, to curl up at her _nana's_ feet as she had done as an elfling, just to feel safe again. But she couldn't. She needed to be here, and be strong, because Óleth needed her.

"I'll always be here with you, I promise."


End file.
